


Out of Phase

by LittleWhiteTie



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Dreamscapes, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, So much hurt/comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 08:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10081445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleWhiteTie/pseuds/LittleWhiteTie
Summary: Shiro is lost, only able to contact the paladins during their dreams. He helps them through their nightmares when they need him the most, but it's getting harder and harder to find them as he starts to lose track of what's real and what's imagined. He's losing his grip on this reality, and his sense of self is beginning to fall apart. He's going to need their help to get back before he disappears entirely.





	1. Saffron and Cerulean

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really excited for this one. There's been a lot of reworking and refining and merging of ideas, but I think it's coming together the way I want it to. Hope you enjoy!

_Hunk pulls at the shackles until his wrists and ankles are raw; his hands and feet are nearly numb from lack of circulation. He needs to break free. Needs to break free and then… well. The engineer in him knows he won’t be able to break through the thick glass wall in front of him. Just like the engineer in him knows he won’t actually be able to break through these chains. Still, he pulls. There’s nothing else he can do, and he can’t just stand idly by while his friends drown._

_“Hunk!” Lance pleads from behind the glass wall. He’s banging on the glass with his fists, his eyes wild and desperate. Behind him, water pours in from the ceiling and continues to rise. “Help us, Hunk!” Keith, Pidge, and Allura are right there with him, trapped in a tiny room turned tank. “Please, Hunk, please help us. I don’t want to drown,” Lance sobs. Water creeps upward, licking his ankles, his shins, his knees._

_“Lance! Lance, can you hear me?” Hunk shouts, but it’s no use. There’s no response, just more of the same frantic pleas and desperate pounding._

_Hunk doesn’t have a death wish, but right now he’d rather be in there than out here. He can’t wrap his arms around Lance from out here, can’t tell him everything’s going to be okay. He wants to console him, tell him that they’re in this together. They’re not._

_The water rises. “Hunk,_ please _, you must get us out of here,” Allura beseeches. She’s been trying in vain to break the glass wall from her side, slamming her body against the glass with nothing to show for it but contusions and a broken shoulder. The way her arm hangs is wrong. The helplessness in her eyes is wrong. Everything is wrong._

_The water rises. Hunk has never seen Keith so anxious. His eyes are wide; his face is pale. He’s given up on trying to break the glass, and it frightens Hunk to see him standing so still. Blood blooms in the water around his white knuckles. “Hunk, do something!” he begs, voice tight. But there’s nothing Hunk can do._

_The water rises. “Hunk!” Pidge screams. She’s on the tips of her toes, struggling to keep her nose and mouth above water. She’s terrified. “Hunk!”_

_He can’t help her, can’t help any of them. Hunk feels sick with fear and anger. The chains rattle with his shaking hands._

_The water rises. He watches as Pidge struggles to tread water. She’s gasping for air, her breaths shallow and irregular. She’s not a swimmer._

_Hunk’s wrists bleed as he pulls and pulls, but the chains don’t give._

_The water rises. Allura’s feet leave the ground. Keith’s next, then Lance’s. They’re panicking. They’re sobbing, pleading, screaming at him,_ do something. _He can’t. “I’m sorry,” he mouths. “I’m so, so sorry.”_

_The water rises. It’s nearly at the ceiling. They’re running out of air. He’s going to watch them drown and there’s nothing, nothing, nothing he can do._

_The water rises. There’s barely any air left. Faces angled upwards, their lips graze the ceiling as they suck in their last breaths._

_The water stops rising. It’s reached the top and they’re fully submerged._

_They pound on the glass, their faces filled with terror. They move in slow motion. They’re_ drowning _._

 _They’ve gone silent, but Hunk screams for them. Please, please, he needs help;_ they _need help._

_Pidge goes still first. Bubbles escape her lips as the air in her lungs leaves her. She stops struggling, stops moving. Her body goes limp and she sinks._

Somebody, please, help.

_Keith is next, limbs going heavy. He sinks to the bottom. Lance isn’t far behind. Allura casts him one last, desperate glance, and then her eyes close and she’s gone too._

_Hunk falls to his knees, unable to bear the sight of the bodies in the tank any longer. He’s sobbing so hard he can’t catch his breath; it feels like he’s drowning, too._

_Faintly, he can hear hurried footsteps. Metal striking glass; again, again, again. Glass shattering. Rushing water._

_Water and shards of glass lap at Hunk’s knees. Steady hands are on his shoulders: one warm and gentle, the other cold and wet and decidedly not human. He dares to look up._

Shiro.

_The adjacent room has drained, the water barely an inch above the floor. Pidge, Keith, Lance, and Allura are breathing; he can see the rise and fall of their chests. They’re alive. “They’re okay, Hunk,” Shiro reassures him. “They’re alright.”_

_He envelops Hunk in a hug and Hunk clings to him with all his strength. He lets Hunk sob against his shoulder. “It’s okay,” Shiro soothes. “Everything is okay.”_

_He lets Hunk give voice to all his anxieties, all his feelings of helplessness. “I-I was so scared,” Hunk gasps, shaking. Shiro steadies him, holding him tightly. He nods in understanding. “I couldn’t do anything. I-I-I was completely helpless. They were drowning, they were so afraid, and I…”_

_“Ssh. It’s alright. They’re fine, Hunk. Everyone is fine,” Shiro murmurs as he rubs his back. His voice is so calm and gentle, and Hunk can’t help but relax. He is safety. He is strength._

_“I know how awful that was to watch, but none of this is real,” Shiro assures him. “They’re all safe. This is all just a bad dream." Hunk breathes deeply as he settles, letting Shiro’s words sink in._

_“Just a bad dream?” he wonders. “But you feel so real…”_

Hunk wakes.

 

-x-

 

“Hunk? You okay?”

“Huh?” He looks up from his food goo. Lance is staring at him from across the breakfast table, concern bright in his blue eyes. “Oh, yeah. Yeah. Just… just a bad dream,” he says.

There’s understanding in the silence that follows. Bad dreams are nothing new for any of them.

He doesn’t tell them the specifics of his nightmare – there’s no need for that – but he does voice what’s been on his mind since waking up. “Shiro was there, in my dream, and it just… it felt so real.”

Keith visibly flinches. It’s been a difficult few days for everyone, but nobody’s been quite so affected by Shiro’s disappearance as Keith. He’s lost Shiro twice now. The sadness in his eyes and shoulders is unmistakeable, and Hunk’s heart wrenches at the sight.

The air hangs heavy and they need levity. Hunk provides.

“Okay, but more than that, this _food goo_. This food goo is so bland it’s criminal,” Hunk says, changing the subject, shedding the seriousness and making a face. “Hmmm. Maybe if I add some of that cinnamon-ish spice, and a bit of that sweet tuber extract, oh, and maybe a dash of whatever that purple stuff is…”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely add the purple stuff,” Lance chimes in helpfully. “That stuff is great.”

Pidge nods. “Agreed. Hey, what d’you think it’s made of?”

“Well it’s definitely some kind of saccharide…”

Hunk doesn’t forget the nightmare, but it drifts to the back of his mind where it belongs. Like Shiro had said, it was just a bad dream.

 

-x-

 

_Lance drifts in a sea of stars. He is very, very alone._

_Pinpricks of light shift this way and that, weaving across the vast blackness of space until they’ve arranged themselves into constellations. The dots connect to form the outlines of former friends, tracing the edges of a team he doesn’t belong to._

_“We don’t need you,” Keith says, harsh and cutting. His words echo all around Lance, reverberating despite the vacuum. “You’re holding us back.”_

_“Worthless. Inferior. An embarrassment to the team,” Allura says, her voice full of venom._

_“You don’t belong here,” Pidge scoffs. “You don’t even have any skills.”_

_“Sorry, Lance,” Hunk shrugs. “We just need someone better.”_

_Coran gives him a derisive look. “It’s time for you to go.”_

_He’s Earthbound. He’s headed there in a pod, not in Blue. He can’t feel her, won’t feel her ever again. The back of his mind is hollowed out and empty. Blue’s not his Lion anymore; he’s not her Paladin._

_He approaches Earth, and the colour of the planet just serves to remind him of what he’s not. He burns through the atmosphere and crashes into the sea. The pod is dashed to bits around him, pieces of it sinking beneath the waves until all traces of that life are gone._

_He swims and he swims, arms and legs cutting through saltwater, until he reaches familiar shore._

_He steps out of the sea and he feels the heat, feels the breeze, feels the warm sand between his toes. He’s home._

_It’s not where he wants to be, but he’s home._

_Something’s not right, though, he realizes quickly as he navigates through the streets. The roads are the same, but the buildings are all wrong. The structures are taller, condos and hotels where houses should be. His favourite pizza place has been replaced; his go-to ice cream stand is no longer. There’s a distinct lack of green. Where are all the palms?_

_He breaks into a run, bare feet stinging against the hot, rough pavement. The strange buildings are disconcerting, but he pushes it from his mind. He’s almost there._

_A few more turns; closer, closer. And then he sees it. It’s more weathered than he remembers, paint faded and chipped and concrete starting to crumble, but it’s still his complex. “I’m home,” he whispers._

_He knocks on the door. His mother answers, and his eyes go wide. Her hair has gone completely grey; wrinkles line her face. Gravity has taken its toll and she stands a little shorter. Her expression is devoid of warmth._

_She speaks three words and they shatter his existence. “Who are you?”_

_He tries to pull himself together. “It’s me, Mom. It’s me, Lance.”_

_Her face shifts from a mask of confusion to one of cold anger. “My son died fifteen years ago.”_

_“No, no, I’m right here,” he pleads. “It might sound crazy, but I can explain-“_

_“You’re not him.” She says it with conviction, the obstinacy so familiar it hurts._

_“I_ am _,” he insists. “It’s me, I swear. A lot has happened, but I’m home now.“_

_“You’re not him,” she repeats. “My Lance would never have hurt a soul.” She’s staring at his hands. He looks down and they’re covered in blood. They drip, drip, drip against the pale concrete._

_“I- I never wanted to,” he stammers. “I promise, Mom, I-“_

_“My Lance would never have left us without so much as a note,” she says._

_“There was no time - I’m sorry, I wanted to-“_

_“My Lance would never have missed his sister’s wedding, his brother leaving for school, the birth of his nieces and nephews, his grandparents’ funerals,” she says. “Not if he had been alive.”_

_Tears sting his eyes. His lungs feel like they’re collapsing. “Mom,_ please _,” he begs. “I wanted to come home, I swear I did, but-“_

_“You’re not him,” she says, an air of finality in her voice. “My Lance is gone. We’ve all accepted that and moved on.”_

_The door slams shut._

_Lance can’t breathe. Lance can’t breathe, but he picks up his shaking legs anyway and he runs. He runs back through the streets, past all the wrong buildings, over the sand and back to the sea._

_Red spills across the horizon, red like his rough, bloodied hands. He steps into the water and tries to wash them, but they won’t come clean._

_He walks further and further into the water, almost wishing the waves would swallow him whole, but the sea spits him back out. Even the sea won’t take him._

_There is no one here; there are no voices to be heard. The beach is empty. He is very, very alone._

_Lance curls in on himself and he lets himself cry._

_At some point, he feels a hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t know who it is, but he’s so starved for comfort that it barely matters._

_“Lance.” His voice is gentle, rich and deep and warm._

_“Sh-Shiro?”_

_“Hey,” Shiro says softly. He settles down beside Lance and wraps his left arm around his shoulders, holding him tightly as he trembles. “Hey, it’s alright. Everything is okay,” he soothes._

_“Shiro,” Lance gasps. “No, Shiro, I’m alone. I’m alone, I’m alone, and I-“_

_“Sssh.” Shiro draws him in closer, letting Lance lean against him fully, his head resting on his shoulder. “You’re not, I promise. You’re not alone.”_

_“But Shiro, Shiro, my mom doesn’t recognize me, and my family, they’ve all moved on, and the team doesn’t need me - I’m useless - and-“_

_“Sssh,” Shiro calms him. He strokes his hair, soothing him. It’s gentle and reassuring. Lance’s shaking subsides and his breathing slows._

_“None of that is true,” Shiro says softly. “This isn’t real, Lance. It’s just a nightmare. I promise you, you’re not alone.”_

_“But… but what if…“_

_“Lance, do you really think your mother could forget you?”_

_Lance lets his eyes close. He shakes his head. “No.“_

_“And do you honestly think the team doesn’t need you?”_

_Of that, Lance is less sure. He hesitates. “I…”_

_“They do. They need you,” Shiro assures him, squeezing his shoulder. His voice leaves no room for doubt. “Blue chose you, and she chose you for a reason. You’re important to the team, Lance. You’re their sharpshooter, remember?”_

_Lance lets out a shaky laugh. He nods._

_“More than that, though, you help hold the team together,” Shiro insists. “You lift their spirits. You keep them going. I promise you, Lance, they need you.”_

_His voice is so calm, so confident, that Lance can’t help but believe him. He breathes easier, relaxing more with every word._

_“You keep saying ‘they’,” Lance murmurs into his shoulder. “Don’t you mean ‘we’?”_

_He looks up and Shiro gives him a small smile. He’s paler than Lance remembers and there’s a soft sadness in his eyes, but the smile is undeniably Shiro’s._

Lance wakes.

-x-

 

Despite the miracles of Altean face creams, Lance’s eyes are still red and puffy as he makes his way to breakfast.

Hunk finds him in the hallway and, with one glimpse at his face, throws his arms around him in a crushing bear hug. “Dude, what’s wrong?”

“Bad dream,” Lance murmurs, leaning in, but the loneliness has dissipated. Hunk’s presence, his warmth, his voice, reminds him that Shiro was right: he’s not alone. “Hey, remember how you had that dream about Shiro a week or so ago?” Lance asks.

He feels Hunk nod.

“Well, I had one too. And it felt real. It was like… it was like he was there.”

Hunk’s brow creases slightly. “Huh.”

They walk to breakfast together, Hunk’s arm still thrown over Lance’s shoulders. He gives him a little squeeze before they join Pidge and Keith at the table.

Breakfast is a quiet affair. Even though he doesn’t feel alone anymore, vestiges of the intense emotion he felt still linger. Lance pokes at his food goo. He’s not very hungry, not even for the purple stuff.

Hunk catches his eye from across the table. There’s a question in the slight tilt of his head. _Can I tell them?_

Lance nods. _Go ahead._

“Hey guys,” Hunk says, breaking the silence. “Okay. So, you know how I had that nightmare a week ago, and Shiro was in it? Well, what’s weird is that Lance had a bad dream last night, and he said his also felt real, and Shiro was in his dream too.”

There’s a pause. Pidge raises an eyebrow. “…And?”

“Well, like, don’t you think that’s kind of strange?”

“It’s really not unexpected,” Pidge shrugs. “People have vivid dreams all the time. And Shiro went missing not too long ago, plus we spend most of our time looking for him. He’s on our minds, so of course he’s going to show up in our dreams.”

“Right. Yeah. That is true,” Hunk concedes.

“I’ve had dreams about him,” Pidge admits. “And I’m sure Keith has too.”

All eyes shift to Keith. His eyes don’t meet theirs.

“Every night,” he says quietly.

They don’t discuss it any further.

 

-x-

 

Shiro can’t make sense of anything. Everything is a shifting mess. Things are there and then they aren’t; things that aren’t suddenly are. He drifts in and out, ghosting through memories and dreams.

He doesn’t know how to control where he goes or what he sees, but sometimes he can sense one of the other paladins – Keith, Lance, Hunk, Pidge – in need of help. And if he concentrates on them, on their quintessence and their heightened emotions and everything he knows about them that he can remember to be true, once in a while, he can manage to find them. And maybe, just maybe, their mind will open up to him and he’ll be allowed in.

He knows that their dreams may not be real, but _they_ are. He can feel it.

But finding them is getting harder and harder to do. It’s hard to focus on them when he can’t quite remember what’s actually true and what’s just imagined. It’s hard to tell dreams from memories. Everything is starting to blur.

He has no idea where he is or when he is; soon, he thinks, he won’t know _who_ he is. He doesn’t understand any of this, and he doesn’t know what’s going to happen. All he knows is that he’s running out of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was definitely a challenge for me. I've never written from Hunk's or Lance's point of view before, and dreams are harder to write than I thought they'd be! I guess it's good to get out of my comfort zone (but not the hurt/comfort zone, ahaha). Very excited for the upcoming chapters. 
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts! <3


	2. Crimson and Clover

Status: Deceased.

_Pidge reads the words on the twin screens over and over until they’re burned into the backs of her eyelids. Her heart plummets in free fall and doesn’t stop._

_Matthew Holt:_ Deceased. _Samuel Holt:_ Deceased.

_Her brain feels like it’s short-circuiting. She tries to remind herself that, no, this isn’t enough. She needs more information._

_Her fingers tap frantically at the keyboard as she digs through the files the Oranthites’ intelligence agency managed to steal from the Galra. She pulls up any and all related information, desperate for answers._

_Her search tells her the following: 1) Dad was deemed unsuitable for the arena, reason: low physical fitness, and sent to work camp MI-3044520. 2) Matt was deemed unsuitable for the arena, reason: tibial shaft fracture, and sent to work camp AS-3044649. 3) Matt escaped work camp AS-3044649. 4) Work camp MI-3044520 was shut down, reason: resources depleted. 5) Dad and other workers from MI-3044520 were to be transported to MI-3044763 via ship CR-0335024. 6) Matt was caught aboard ship CR-0335024 and was detained there. 7) Ship CR-0335024 never reached MI-3044763._

_Dread pits her stomach. They were both on ship CR-0335024. What happened to it? What happened to her family? She anxiously sifts through the Oranthian data for anything regarding the ship. She pulls up the last dated video file._

_The video is from the vantage point of another ship. CR-0335024 is in view - a standard Galran battleship, outfitted in dark grey and purple. It’s currently engaged in battle, shooting beams from blasters scattered around the ship and a powerful ion cannon at its centre._

_The frame shifts as the ship with the camera swerves to avoid a bright blue beam. CR-0335024’s target comes into view. It’s a Lion._

_The Blue Lion is having difficulty under heavy fire, but then a second Lion, Green, comes in from behind. Its jaw blade materializes._

_The Green Lion drags its jaw blade through ship CR-0335024._

_Ship CR-0335024 explodes._

_Pidge_ screams.

_“Pidge?” The voice behind her is wrought with concern._

_She can hear the familiar mechanical sounds of Shiro’s Galra arm as he places a tentative hand on her shaking shoulder._

Shiro _._

_She turns around and throws herself in his arms, burying her face in his chest. He clings to her tightly, not letting go as she sobs, her crying loud and ugly. She can’t breathe._

_“Hey, ssh, it’s okay,” he murmurs._

_“How can you say that? How can anything possibly be okay?” she chokes out._

_“Pidge-“_

_“Not Pidge,” she cuts him off._ “Pidge _was supposed to find them._ Pidge _was supposed to bring them home to Mom, and I- I…“ She can’t finish. She thinks she might be sick._

_He shakes his head. “Katie,” he says quietly. “Listen to me. This is all just a bad dream.”_

_She looks up at him. Though he looks tired and eerily pale, his face is fixed in a gentle expression. He looks as if he’s approaching a wild animal, which isn’t all that far off the mark. “How can you know that?” she asks._

_He falters for a moment. His chest goes still before his breathing resumes, deep and controlled. “I just… have a feeling,” he says._

_Her heart sinks all over again. “I- I can’t… how can you… I_ killed _them, Shiro!” she gasps._

_He shakes his head. “No. They’re alive, Katie. I know they are.”_

_“You can’t know that!” she snaps, almost hysterically._

_He’s unbearably calm and collected. She doesn’t want to be placated. “Katie-“_

_“Stop,” she gasps. “Shiro, just… stop.”_

_She feels his shoulders slump slightly. She knows she shouldn’t lash out, especially not at him, but she just… everything just…_

_He gives her a few moments before speaking again. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. “Maybe- maybe I am wrong. Maybe I can’t be certain. But I_ do _know who you are, and I know that you’re a scientist. So even if I’m wrong, let’s look at this together as scientists, alright?”_

_A scientist. She’s a scientist. Pidge or Katie, she’s a Holt._

_After a few breaths, she gives a slight nod. “Okay,” she whispers._

_“Alright. Let’s start by going over where this data came from.”_

_“The Oranthites,” she says. It’s much easier to speak intelligibly when she can give clear-cut answers. “They gave us a drive with the data their intelligence agency had stolen from the Galra.”_

_He nods as he takes in the facts. “I need a bit of background. Tell me about the Oranthites.”_

_Doesn’t he know…? No, he wasn’t there. He wasn’t there because… Something’s off, but she can’t quite put her finger on it._

_“We formed an alliance with them yesterday, after we answered a distress signal on Oranth,” she provides. “There was a meteoroid bound for impact. It was a near disaster without Voltron… though that kind of goes for all of missions lately. Luckily, the meteoroid wasn’t too big, and we managed to break it up. Afterwards, they told us they wanted to help us in our fight against the Galra. They said they had information that might be helpful, including some data on prisoners.”_

_He looks concerned when she mentions Voltron, but his voice is level when he speaks. “And they mentioned that last part because you asked?”_

_“Well, yeah,” she nods._

_“Did they give you the data right away?” he asks._

_“No, their technology’s super slow, so we didn’t get the drive ‘til this morning.”_

_“So, even if this isn’t a dream, don’t you think it’s possible that the files could have been tampered with?” he asks. “Maybe they could have scanned the database for humans and altered those files to make it look like something else had happened?”_

_She considers. “I… I guess so.”_

_“Could the Oranthites be working with the Galra, either willingly or under duress? Do you think they maybe could’ve given you those files to try to deter you from attacking the Galra?”_

_“I… guess that’s a possibility,” she admits._

_“Alright. Now do we know for certain that Matt and your dad were aboard that ship at the time of the explosion? That they didn’t escape beforehand, or get off on any stops along the way? And if they were, do we know for sure that they didn’t get to one of the escape pods or another ship afterwards?”_

_“Well… no. We don’t know that for sure,” she concedes._

_“Okay. Now let’s look at the other possibility,” he says calmly. “How many ships have you taken out with the Green Lion?”_

_She’s not sure. “…Dozens, maybe?”_

_“Alright, and how many ships do you think the Galran Empire has?”_

_She considers. “They’ve been expanding their Empire for ten thousand years. They must have millions of ships. Billions, maybe.”_

_He nods. “Now, what are the chances that Matt and your dad were both on the same ship, that they weren’t able to escape and didn’t survive the explosion, and in the short time that they were both being transported, that ship happened to be in exactly the same location in the universe as you were, while you were flying the Green Lion, and in that very moment you took out that specific ship?”_

_“…Very, very small,” she concedes. “Negligible, really, compared to the other possibilities.” The tension in her body leaves her and she collapses further into Shiro’s arms, nestling against him._

_“Thanks, Shiro,” she says quietly._

_“I’m sorry,” he says, and she can feel his voice as much as hear it. “I’m sorry I can only give you_ improbable _, not_ impossible _.”_

_She shakes her head. “There’s no such thing. But I think you’re right. I believe they’re alive.”_

_She looks up and he gives her a soft smile. He looks weary. Almost… faded. She wraps her arms around his waist more snugly._

_“They’re alive. And so are you.”_

She wakes.

-x-

“Man, Pidge, you look terrible,” Lance tells her at breakfast. She snorts. It’s true, she’s a mess. “Nightmare, huh? You okay?”

She nods. “Yeah. …It was bad. And while it was happening, I wasn’t okay,” she admits. “But then Shiro showed up in my dream.”

Silence falls over the table.

“I know what you mean, now,” she says, looking at Hunk and Lance. “It was like what you guys were saying a couple weeks ago. It felt _real_. What if… What if it really was him?”

It’s an outlandish idea, but everyone is quiet as they consider the possibility. It says a lot about what they’ve been through; they can’t discount anything as impossible anymore. She knows it was most likely just a vivid dream, but they have no other leads, and if there’s even a chance it’s him, it’s worth pursuing.

“Let’s talk to Allura and Coran about it,” Keith says, though he doesn’t look or sound hopeful at all. He hasn’t in a while, restlessness and worry having given way to a deep sadness.

Lance picks up on his tone too. “We’ll get him back,” he reassures Keith. Pidge doesn’t like the gentleness that Lance injects into his voice, or the blank passivity with which Keith responds. She wants them to go back to annoying each other, bickering over nothing. She wants everything to go back to normal. She wants Keith to go back to being… maybe ‘happy’ isn’t the right word, but not like _this_ , hollow and bereft.

She reaches across the table and puts her hand over Keith’s. “He’s out there,” she says with as much certainty as she can muster. “I know he is.”

“How can you be so sure?” Keith asks. He looks so lost.

“I just… have a feeling.”

-x-

_“Keith? Keith, are you there?” Shiro’s voice is rough and anxious._

_“I’m coming, Shiro,” Keith promises, panting as he sprints through the dark hallway, taking out sentries and kicking down doors as he searches for him. It seems to go on forever._

_“Keith, I need help. Please, hurry.” The urgency in his voice is definitely not a good sign._

_“Just hold on, Shiro. I’ll be there soon,” he vows, pushing himself to go faster._

_He sees horrifying things behind each door, each room worse than the last. Laboratory equipment, torture instruments, cells, cages. He feels sicker and sicker with each door he breaks down. He’s absolutely terrified for Shiro._

_His footsteps echo in the hall as his boots strike the floor; his blade clangs with each metal body it meets. The noises are far too loud in a place that’s far too quiet._

_“Keith, please,” Shiro begs. “There’s not much time.”_

_“I’m on my way. Hang in there,” he says between ragged breaths. Faster, faster, he needs to go faster. “Just a little longer. I promise.”_

_His legs are cramping up and his lungs burn. How long has he been running for? …Doesn’t matter. Shiro’s in danger. He has to keep going._

_More steps. More sentries. More doors. No Shiro._

_“Keith!” Shiro’s voice is panicked, laced with desperation. “Hurry!”_

_How can all of the rooms be empty? Where_ is _he?_

Patience yields focus.

_It’s almost impossible when the situation’s so urgent, but he closes his eyes and tries to push aside the flurry of anxious thoughts filling his head. He blocks out all the noise and concentrates solely on Shiro’s voice._

“Keith _!”_

_When he opens his eyes, he can see the end of the hallway. One last door. He throws himself against it, forcing it open, and sees Shiro._

_Keith pales at the sight, nausea churning in his stomach._

_He’s shackled and hooked up to some kind of machine, a sci-fi horror monstrosity with a grotesque assortment of tubes and wires coming out of it. The tubes run from the machine through Shiro’s body._

_Shiro lifts his head weakly. “Keith. Thank goodness you’re here.”_

_He’s not sure what he’s seeing. “Shiro? What is all of this?” He’s afraid of the answer._

_Shiro meets Keith’s eyes as he tells him, “It’s a detonator.”_

_Keith’s eyes widen. “What? How-“_

_“It’s powered by my quintessence,” Shiro explains. “And unless it’s deactivated, it’s going to set off explosions all across the planetary system. Billions of people will die.”_

_Keith moves to reach forward, but Shiro stops him with a shake of his head. “There’s a built-in failsafe. Any attempt to remove or break the device will set off the bombs.”_

_“Then how do we deactivate it?” Keith asks._

_Shiro gives him a sad smile. “You know how.”_

_No. No, he_ can’t _. “There must be another way,” Keith pleads._

_Shiro shakes his head. “We’re out of time,” he says as he nods towards a timer. Though Keith’s vision blurs, he can see the bright numbers on the display as it begins to count down single digits. Nine. Eight. Seven._

_“No! Shiro-“ Six._

_“You know what you have to do,” Shiro says gently. Five. Four._

_Keith grips his blade, his hands shaking. Three. Two._

_“I love you,” he tells Shiro as he runs him through._

_The timer stops._

_When the other paladins find him, he’s on his knees. His blade is through Shiro’s heart and there’s blood everywhere._

_There’s a moment of stunned silence as they take in the scene. And then, when it sets in, there’s shock and confusion and pain and fear and anger and-_

_He has to get out of here. His head is spinning with what he’s done and it’s all too much, the crying and the screaming and the steady sound of blood dripping to the floor and the ferrous scent in the air permeating everything and the sight of the body, Shiro’s dead body…_

_He had a choice. He_ chose _this._

_He can’t be here any longer._

_He pushes past the others and runs. He tears through the dark hallway, tripping over the metal corpses he left behind._

_He runs and he runs until he reaches the Black Lion. He throws himself at her feet. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he gasps. He killed him. He killed her paladin. He is her pilot now. She lets him in._

_Huddled on the floor of the cockpit, squeezing his eyes shut, he tries to remember how to breathe._

_“That’s it. Deep breaths. Slow and steady.”_

_Keith’s head snaps up, eyes wide in disbelief._ “Shiro?”

 _It’s him. He looks tired and drained, but he’s_ alive. _He gives Keith a smile. “Hey.”_

_Keith barrels into him, throwing his arms around him. “Shiro. I thought… I thought-”_

_“Ssh, I know. Don’t worry. It’s me. I’m here,” Shiro reassures him, hugging him back tightly._

_Tears leak from Keith’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” he gasps. “I didn’t… I-I chose-”_

_“I’m glad you did,” Shiro assures him, his voice calm and gentle. “I’m sure that was a tough call, but you made the right choice.”_

_Keith buries his face in his shoulder. “_ Tough _doesn’t even begin to cover it.”_

_Shiro’s lips quirk upward. “I’m proud of you, Keith,” he says, and from the warmth in his voice, Keith knows he means it. “I’m glad to see you’re able to think rationally even in no-win situations. There’re going to be some difficult decisions ahead of you as the head of Voltron.”_

_Keith’s brow furrows. “But you’re back now. You’re alive.”_

_“…In a manner of speaking.”_

_It’s an odd response. “What does that mean?” Keith asks._

_Shiro shrugs, a sad smile tracing his features. “I wish I knew.”_

_He studies Shiro. He looks exhausted, and try as he might to hide it, Keith can see fear in his eyes. He’s frighteningly pale, almost like… like a ghost. “You’re here, though,” Keith says. “Back there, that must have been an illusion. That wasn’t real,” he infers._

_“Must not have been,” Shiro murmurs. “Though I’m guessing this isn’t either.”_

_Keith’s not sure what to make of that, but before he can respond, Shiro tells him, “I’m sorry you’ve been having so many nightmares. I’m glad I could actually get to you this time.”_

_“You know about those?” Keith frowns. “Wait, what do you mean? ’Get to me?’ ‘This time?’”_

_“I found you so many times before, but I could never get through,” Shiro says. “…I was worried I wouldn’t get to see you again.”_

_“What are you talking about?” Keith asks. He doesn’t understand, but the way Shiro is speaking scares him. Though it started out as comforting, Shiro’s grip now feels more like he’s afraid to let go. As tightly as he clings to him, Keith doesn’t feel any warmth from his body._

_“The dreams. It’s getting harder to find you, any of you, even when they’re bad. I… I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this,” Shiro admits. “I don’t know how much time I have left.”_

_“Shiro?” Keith can barely feel him anymore. He’s starting to fade. “Shiro, wait!”_

_There’s a sad smile on his lips. It’s far from reassuring. “I’m sorry, Keith,” he says._

_Shiro disappears._

Keith wakes.

-x-

Keith bolts out of bed, accidentally hitting Hunk in the face as he throws off the covers. Hunk groans, but Keith’s too keyed up to care.

“Coran!” he shouts.

“What the hell, Keith. Are you _trying_ to wake everyone up?” Lance mutters as he rolls over, voice half muffled by his pillow.

Keith ignores him, racing out of the room and towards the bridge. “Coran!”

Coran’s not there, and Keith wonders if maybe Coran actually _does_ sleep on occasion. Fortunately, someone else is awake.

Unfortunately, it’s Slav.

Just the sight of Slav’s face irritates Keith, but he knows he might be their best shot at finding Shiro. He’s a technical genius, and if Shiro really is in some sort of other reality, well, nobody knows more about other realities than Slav.

“Slav. I think I saw him. Come on,” Keith says, grabbing hold of one of Slav’s many arms and dragging him down the hall before he can say anything.

They return to the room Keith woke up in to find the rest of the paladins are awake, sitting up on the large bed they’ve been sharing for the past couple weeks. It’s not ideal – Hunk snores, and Lance talks in his sleep, and Pidge has cold feet that always seem to find their way to his bare skin – but the bed fits within the small radius of the monitoring device Slav and Coran have built. Keith has no idea how it works, but supposedly it’ll tell them if what they’re seeing in their dreams really is Shiro.

“You saw him?” Pidge asks anxiously.

Keith nods, eyes not moving from Slav as he taps away at the control panel. He wasn’t actually expecting this to lead anywhere – he had mostly gone along with it to humour the others – but he knows now that there’s something to this. He could _feel_ it was him.

Slav stops what he’s doing. He turns around to face Keith and holds out one of his hands expectantly.

“…What.”

“I need your neural oscillation recording device,” Slav says, like it’s obvious. Keith realizes he’s still wearing the slim metal headband they’ve been wearing to sleep. Slav’s tone is obnoxious, but he complies.

The paladins are quiet, waiting with bated breath as Slav runs his diagnostics and looks over the numbers. They wait as he checks the results. Then as he double checks, then triple checks.

Finally, Slav speaks. “There is a 98.4% chance that it is him.”

The paladins’ faces light up. Keith’s heart soars. They’ve found him.

“Buuut, there is a 97.9% chance that he will not be able to find his way back to this reality and will remain trapped there forever,” Slav says.

Their faces quickly change from ecstatic to devastated. Keith’s gut wrenches. No. No, he can’t lose him again.

“However! We may be able to build a device that can bring him back.”

There’s a collective sigh of relief. Keith feels lighter.

“Althooough, given his state of his mind and deteriorating sense of reality, there is a 99.2% chance of failure.“

The mood crashes again. Keith’s lungs collapse.

“If, however, you are able to bring his mind closer to being in phase with this reality, the probability of success will increase significantly.”

Good. This is good.

“Buuut, as things are, the probability of being able to do that is less than 1.3%.“

Keith’s stomach drops.

“However! If you are somehow able to synchronize your mind with his, the probability of being able to bring him closer into phase increases dramatically.”

That’s… good, right? Keith’s not sure how to feel at this point.

“ _Buuut_ -“

“Would you _stop?!”_ Lance snaps.

Slav shuts his beak.

“…Not literally,” Hunk says after Slav doesn’t resume. “No, don’t actually stop talking. Keep going. But, uh, maybe get to the point? Can we bring him back?”

Slav considers. “Given the current conditions, if we are able to build the device, there is, perhaps, a 2.9% overall probability of success.”

Keith’s heart starts to sink. But then he looks at the others and they’re… smiling?

“We’ve faced worse odds,” Hunk shrugs.

“Yeah,” Lance nods with an easy smile. “No problem. 2.9% odds-“

“2.9% _probability_ ,” Slav interrupts. “Odds are very different from probabilities-“

Pidge cuts him off. “We’ll get him back,” she says determinedly, her expression fiercely hopeful.

They’re so optimistic that Keith can’t help but give them a small smile in return.

 _Improbable, but not impossible._ And Slav’s estimate is based on current conditions. Maybe he can increase their chances.

As the others pile out of the room to go eat breakfast, Keith stays behind. He sits on the bed, directly beneath the monitor, and closes his eyes.

_Patience yields focus._

He thinks back to what Shiro told him in his dream, turning the words over and over in his mind. He thinks about yesterday, and the paladins, and their connections. He lets go of probabilities and focuses on possibilities.

Eventually, an idea starts to form. And for the first time in a long time, Keith feels a glimmer of hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pidge's nightmare was something I'd been thinking about for a while. Resolving it was a fun challenge, as was writing her reactions and interactions with Shiro.
> 
> Keith's nightmare was much easier. ...But writing Keith & Shiro hurt/comfort is basically second nature for me now. 
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts! :)


	3. Ebony

Keith braces himself as he tips back the goblet. The gorvil is a hundred times worse than nunvil, and his stomach revolts before the midnight black liquid even reaches his lips. He does his best to choke it down.

Allura sits beside him on the bed, basin at the ready. “Are you alright?” she asks, concerned as he swallows convulsively.

He nods after a couple moments. The stuff is positively vile, but that’s really only to be expected for something Allura called ‘nightmare juice.’ He feels sick and light-headed, and he’s already dreading the wicked, wicked hangover that’ll put him out of commission for most of the following day. But the substance will do what he needs it to, inducing horrible lucid nightmares.

“I do hope it works this time,” Allura says sympathetically, taking the goblet from his hand and replacing it with a glass of water.

He takes a gulp, coughing a bit as he chases it down, and manages a wry smile. “You and me both, Princess,” he says, his voice already beginning to slur.

Shiro’s only ever come to the paladins during their nightmares, so it seems bad dreams are necessary for him to be able to find them. And while Keith’s dreams are never _good_ , Shiro only seems to visit during the very worst of them. The gorvil will ensure that Keith’s nightmares are absolutely awful; plus, it’ll keep him lucid throughout. He reminds himself of this every night as he struggles to get it down.

Allura had warned him about the substance – she’d been the one to tell him of it in the first place. She’d drunk it once on a dare back in her adolescence, and she said it was one of the worst experiences she’s ever had. It’s almost funny to think of the Princess ever having been a reckless preteen, but it kind of makes sense. Reluctant as Red was to let Keith switch Lions, once it was made clear that the situation was only temporary, she accepted Allura almost immediately as her pilot. He wonders if Allura’s just learned to control her impulsive tendencies, the way Shiro had asked Keith to do.

Even though he’s taken up temporary leadership of Voltron, Keith is not a natural leader - the past few missions he’s been in charge of have been proof enough of that, and his connection with Black is tenuous at best. They weren’t even able to form Voltron until about two weeks ago, after they’d spent an excruciatingly long day doing nothing but focusing on mind melding and letting one another into their heads. Keith had hated it at the time, but the exercise had also led to the second piece of the puzzle: only after that had Shiro been able to visit Keith in his dream.

It adds up. Even though Keith had had more nightmares in the past several weeks than the rest of them combined, and even though Shiro had supposedly found Keith many times before, Keith was the last one he’d come to. The order he’d visited them in corresponded directly to how good they were at letting others into their heads. Keith is fully aware that he’d slammed up his mental walls even further after Shiro disappeared, and it’s been a struggle to break them back down again.

Keith’s been making progress, though. He’s been practicing the mental exercises every day with Lance, whenever Keith’s not feeling too ill from the gorvil, and Allura doesn’t need Lance’s help sweet-talking other planets into giving them the resources they need to build the machines that’ll help find and bring back Shiro.

The others have been busy. Pidge and Coran have rejigged the neural oscillation recorder to gather some new measurements when Keith sees Shiro. From these parameters, they should be able to construct a device that’ll bypass the need for gorvil (thank goodness). Supposedly, with the paladins’ shared connection with Shiro, they should be able to find and gain access to wherever it is that Shiro’s trapped, whether that’s on a different plane of existence, between realities, or somewhere else entirely.

Meanwhile, Hunk, in all his patience, has been working with Slav to build the other device that will physically pull Shiro out from wherever he is and bring him back. Simple enough; the problem lies in the part between finding him and getting him out.

According to Slav’s readings, Shiro’s sense of reality is distorted and appears to be getting worse, and they’ll need to fix that before they can extract him. Keith’s not exactly sure how they’re going to do that, but he does have an idea for where they might start. Shiro’s been able to get inside their minds and see what they’re seeing. Keith figures it should work the other way around – if, of course, he’ll let them.

Keith involuntarily groans as the gorvil threatens to creep back up his throat. Allura rubs his back soothingly. “You just need to make contact with him once in this way. Then you won’t need to take this awful substance ever again,” she reassures, her voice gentle and compassionate. The two of them have had their clashes, but they’ve become quite close in the past few months, coming to rely on each other in the wake of Shiro’s disappearance.

Once his stomach has settled a bit, Allura helps him to lie down on the bed. She manoeuvres him into the recovery position, just in case. The others have been taking turns watching over him every night, making sure he’s okay.

Allura settles down right beside him, just like the others do, the lack of physical distance between them a reminder of how close they’ve all become. He’s honestly surprised that any of them want to be anywhere near him, what with the way the gorvil has him sweating and crying and thrashing in his sleep. It’s… nice, though. They’re always there when he wakes in the morning, calming him down, and they’re there to bring him the basin and more water and rub his back when the inevitable aftereffects of the gorvil hit.

It reminds him of the way Shiro took care of him once when he was sick, and Keith realizes that this is what it feels like to have a family.

“Thanks for staying,” he slurs.

“Of course,” she says, slipping her hand into his. “Thank _you_ , Keith, for doing this every night. I know how awful it must be.”

“S’fine. Just want our family whole again,” he murmurs.

She gives him a warm look. “I know you can do it,” she says, giving his hand a squeeze. “You’ll reach him.”

“Mm. We’ll bring’m back.”

She says something that he doesn’t quite catch, probably wishing him terrible dreams. He gives her a lazy smile in return.

Head spinning, he closes his eyes and concentrates on Shiro. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll see him this time.

-x-

Shiro can feel Keith calling out to him. It’s been happening more often lately, and the signals are stronger now. He knows that this should be a bad sign – it means Keith is probably suffering more – but on a selfish level, it helps Shiro get closer to finding him, and Shiro desperately wants to see him once more. He’s been so close the past few times, but he’s never quite been able to get there. It’s become so difficult, so hard to think and focus and remember.

He closes his eyes and tries to think of Keith. He thinks of dark hair, dark eyes, and an intense gaze. He thinks of _red_ and _fire_ and _impulsivity._ There’s more, he knows there’s more. But he just can’t…

There’s another spike in emotion and he can feel him again. He can feel _strength_ and _courage,_ and it feels so foreign. Shiro vaguely wonders why Keith would even bother with someone like him, someone so weak and afraid. Would Keith even want to see him? He’s a monster-

 _No._ No, he needs to stop those thoughts before they send him into another downward spiral. His tendency to ruminate is going to destroy him here. The more he dwells on bad thoughts and worst case scenarios, the more he sees them and the more real they become. He needs to push the thoughts down. Whether Shiro deserves it or not, Keith is calling for him. He needs to focus.

He knows Keith well. He just has to _remember_. He thinks of the boy he met at the Garrison and the time they’d spent together. He thinks of scowls and bared teeth and, over time, gentle smirks and small grins. He thinks of temper flares and stubborn determination and fierce loyalty. He thinks of hands on shoulders and shy hugs _._ Subtle signs of affection he doesn’t deserve-

_Focus._

Keith cares about him, that’s undeniable, even if Shiro can’t recall why. Keith found him after he crashed back on Earth, drugged and tied down; he found him when they were stranded on that planet, injured and in danger. Keith always knew how to find him.

He feels another signal as Keith reaches out to him. He wants to see him again. With everything he has, Shiro reaches back.

Shiro opens his eyes and finds himself standing in an open field. He’s surrounded by corpses again.

Four of the lifeless bodies are recognizable. They wear white and black armour, accented by green, blue, yellow, and pink. More than anything, though, they’re covered in red.

Guilt washes over him, just like every other time. He’s seen this before, over and over. There’ve been so many variations on the same thing, so many ways he leads them to their graves.

But this time, there’s something different. He can hear a voice. This time, there’s someone left alive.

There’s a figure staring off into the distance. “This isn’t real,” he says quietly like a mantra, his voice shaking. “This isn’t going to happen. This is just a dream. Everything’s going to be fine.”

Shiro steps closer, drawn to him and his whispered words.

Keith turns toward him, tears running freely down his face. His face shifts from anguish into relief. “Shiro!”

Shiro glances between him and the crimson-painted battlefield. Shiro’s scenarios never leave any of them alive, but he doesn’t appear to be in any imminent danger. “Keith?” he says cautiously. “What… where...”

Keith visibly tries to steady himself before speaking, biting back his distress. “This is only a dream. My dream. You found me,” he says with a forced calmness.

He… he found him this time. This is Keith’s nightmare. _This is only a dream._ But it’s hard to believe that when he’s seen this so many times before. It feels like a memory. It’s all so familiar, the bodies strewn about and the scent of blood hanging heavily in the air…

“Shiro?” Keith says, his voice laced with worry. “Shiro, are you with me?”

Is he? The scene before him is flickering, threatening to fade. He blinks, trying to bring his vision back into focus. “Y-yeah. I’m here.”

Keith reaches for him, and his eyes go wide with alarm when his hand goes right through Shiro. His face falls, and Shiro realizes with a pang just how badly he craves touch. He’s been so alone.

“How did you find me? How do you find any of us?” Keith asks. “We need to know.” He tries to speak calmly, but there’s an urgent undertone to his voice.

It’s hard for him to really think properly, but Shiro tries his best to describe how he senses their distress when they have nightmares, how he focuses on them and their quintessence to find them, how he can only get through when they reach out and let him in. It’s all so abstract and he knows he’s not the most coherent right now; he doubts what he’s saying makes much sense at all. But Keith is listening intently, hanging onto every word.

“Okay. We’re going to get you out of here,” Keith vows when Shiro’s finished stumbling through an attempt at an explanation. Keith speaks reassuringly, steady and with conviction. “We have a way. But you’re going to have to let us help when we find you. Reach for us. Let us see what you’re seeing. …Can you do that?”

Keith sounds every bit the leader Shiro pictured. He knows the paladins are in good hands. Better off than in the hands of someone like Shiro – his hands are anything but good, literally covered in blood, one of them forged by the Galra for the sole purpose of harming others. There have been so many meaningless deaths by these hands. He can picture the arena and bright lights-

“Shiro!”

His attention snaps back to Keith. He and the surrounding environment are flickering again.

“Concentrate on me,” Keith says.

Shiro tries. He tries to block out all the thoughts, focusing his attention solely on Keith. He can ever so faintly feel his quintessence, and he grasps at the sensation, letting it anchor him. Everything else might not be real, but Keith is. He can feel it.

Slowly, Shiro reaches for Keith’s outstretched hand, and this time, they make contact. He can just barely feel it, but it’s there, the faint sensation of pressure. Warmth spreads from his fingertips to his very core, comforting in a way he’d nearly forgotten.

“Tell me you’ll let us help you,” Keith pleads. And as much as Shiro thinks that maybe they shouldn’t – surely the paladins have other priorities, maybe they’d be better off without him – Keith’s presence reminds him just how much he wants to get out of this place. He wants to be with them again, and it seems they want him back too.

“…Okay,” Shiro says. “I’ll try.”

“We need you,” Keith says. “ _I_ need you.” He says the words like he’s been waiting to say them forever, simple and straightforward, spoken with earnestness and gravitas.

The words are clearly important to him, so Shiro tries to hold onto them as everything starts to fade. They’re out of time.

Shiro catches one last glimpse of dark hair, dark eyes, and a determined gaze before he finds himself somewhere else entirely.

-x-

It’s more difficult to find Shiro than any of them thought it would be. Coran says it’s because his sense of self has become so warped, but Hunk thinks that even if that weren’t the case, navigating this place would still be next to impossible, a shifting and confusing mess of jumbled memories and thoughts, interspersed with long stretches of total emptiness.

It’s been weeks, and even with the paladins taking turns such that one of them is searching for him at all times, they’ve only ever been able to catch glimpses of what Shiro’s seeing, never able to make contact. He’s too far out of reach.

The fragments they have seen have been horrifying, and the knowledge that his state of mind is only getting worse is even more worrisome. Hunk is very, very scared of what they’ll find when they finally get through to him.

The fear is almost suffocating, permeating every inch of the vast, empty space surrounding him. He feels it in every fibre of his being. His breathing is shallow and his palms are sweaty. He can hear the rabbit-quick thudding of his heart as it races, and when he listens closely, he can hear it echo.

When he listens more closely, he can hear that it’s not an echo at all.

He concentrates on the second, quicker heartbeat, closing his eyes and trying to locate it. He drifts towards it, feeling the pulse more and more strongly until it reverberates in his bones. He follows it and chases a thought that’s not his own, revolving around a single word. _Coward._

He can see the inside of a Galra cell, just out of reach. “Shiro?” he says softly. He tries to project courage and strength. “It’s me, Hunk. Let me in.”

Like every other time, there’s no response. He’s been here before, but he can’t give up. Shiro needs help. He’s scared and he’s alone, and it’s important to have someone there in moments of fear. Hunk knows this well.

Then Hunk remembers Slav mentioning something about synchronicity, and something clicks. He tries again with a different approach. This time, he embraces his own fear, recalling every time he’s felt nervous or afraid. He concentrates on the way it feels like his heart will jump out of his throat, the sensation of cold sweat on his brow, the slight tremor of his hands. He focuses on the other heartbeat and sets it against his own. They both pound heavily, too fast and too loud.

He reaches out to Shiro once more, this time projecting empathy. “You’re not alone,” he says.

And for the first time, he feels a slight tug as he makes contact. He’s pulled in. Metal walls and dim purple lighting come into focus.

“Hunk?”

It’s a bare whisper, spoken between ragged breaths. Shiro is huddled in the back corner of the cell, knees tucked tightly against his chest.

Hunk sits down next to him, setting a hand on his shoulder. “Shiro. I’m so glad I found you. Are… you okay?”

He’s answered in rapid, gasping breaths.

“Listen,” Hunk says softly. “This is just a- a memory, or something. This isn’t real. You’re not here anymore.”

Shiro’s eyes look glazed over. “Not here anymore,” he echoes to himself under his breath.

Hunk’s never seen him this bad before. Keith wasn’t kidding when he’d said Shiro wasn’t doing well. Still, he does his best to stay calm. “Yeah. Yeah, you get out of here. Ulaz helps you out of here, and you return to Earth. And then you help us find the Blue Lion, and we go on an awesome space adventure. Remember?” He squeezes his shoulder.

Shiro gives a slight nod. “Right,” he whispers.

The scene fades, and Hunk finds them standing under bright lights. It’s loud, the excited cheers of a crowd all around them. This must be Zarkon’s arena.

Shiro is in front of him, hair pitch black and both arms intact. His hands shake as he raises his sword.

On the other side of the arena is the most horrifying monster Hunk’s ever seen. It’s _massive_. It has a huge, gaping mouth with several rows of razor sharp teeth, dripping with fresh blood. It has an assortment of appendages, with deadly claws, powerful looking tentacles, and way too many legs. It also has too many glowing eyes, which can probably shoot lasers or something.

Hunk feels panic tear through him just looking at it, and then he realizes Shiro’s supposed to fight this thing. There’s something scattered on the ground around it, and Hunk realizes with horror that they’re body parts of previous combatants _._ He’s pretty sure he’s going to throw up.

The monster makes the first move, taking advantage of Shiro’s frightened state. It surges forward with surprising speed and slashes at him. Shiro rolls, managing to avoid a fatal injury, but the claw still slices into Shiro’s left forearm, eliciting a sharp gasp of pain.

Hunk’s seen that scar. This is a memory. Hunk knows that Shiro will win eventually, but he can’t wait on the sidelines to watch it play out. Hunk runs towards the nearest sentry.

The monster has Shiro pinned down under several legs, and the other prisoners’ blood drips from its mouth onto Shiro’s shirt as it leans over him. Just as the monster is about to sink its teeth in, Hunk manages to wrest the gun out of the sentry’s arms and takes his shot.

The monster reels as the blast burns a hole through one of its tentacles. The scent of charred flesh adds to Hunk’s already considerable state of nausea, but he has more important things to worry about. Like the way its foremost five eyes light up and start to shoot beams.

“Laser eyes. I so called that,” Hunk mutters. “Why do I always have to be right?”

Hunk shoots at the creature, but then a beam grazes Hunk’s side, causing him to cry out. The hit doesn’t do any serious damage, but it does seem to mobilize Shiro. “Hunk!”

Shiro surges forward, drawing the monster’s attention away from Hunk. He dodges lasers and claw strikes and tentacles with incredible agility. He gets in close and slashes across its eyes, causing it to shriek as Shiro’s coated in an orange spray. _So. Gross._

Before it has a chance to recover, Shiro stabs it in the abdomen, twice for good measure, downing it for good.

When it’s obvious that it’s not going to get back up, Shiro turns to face Hunk. His eyes are wide and he looks… confused.

“I… I know that’s not actually how the memory went,” Hunk says. “You take it down and win by yourself. But you’re not here anymore, and you’re not on your own. You have us now.”

The arena begins to crumble around them. The ground splits and swallows them whole, pulling them into utter darkness.

There’s nothing around them, an abyss quieter and darker than Hunk ever thought imaginable.

And then the silence is slowly replaced with cackling laughter. It’s a horrid sound. Gleaming yellow eyes soon follow, surrounding them. It feels like they’re staring straight through him, filling him with unease.

There’s a quiet sob from behind him, causing Hunk to spin around. Curled in on himself, as if trying to make himself even smaller, is a child.

“…Shiro?”

Hunk quickly makes his way over to him, and the tiny version of Shiro clings to him, shaking. In this state, Shiro is at his most vulnerable.

Hunk wraps his arms around him, enveloping him in warmth, letting him cry against his chest.

“Hunk… I’m scared,” the small voice admits.

“I know, buddy,” Hunk soothes, running his hand through his hair. “And that’s okay.”

Shiro shakes his head. “I’m- I’m a coward,” he divulges quietly.

“Nope,” Hunk says. “Nuh-uh. You’re actually the exact opposite of that.”

“But I-I’m afraid. All the time,” little Shiro admits.

“Yeah? Well, so am I,” Hunk says. “Am I a coward?”

The small boy automatically shakes his head. Hunk can’t help but smile. He knew that would work.

Hunk sets his hands on Shiro’s shoulders, looking him in the eyes. “Maybe you’re afraid, but that doesn’t stop you. And that makes you brave. You’ve protected us so many times, all without a second thought. Remember?”

He can tell from the look in Shiro’s eyes that he doesn’t, not really.

“Seriously? Just a couple minutes ago, in that last memory, you protected me from getting hit by those freaky laser eyes.”

“You still got hit,” his small voice says.

Hunk shakes his head. “That doesn’t matter. My point is this. You save us over and over again, even when you’re scared. I can’t even count the number of times you’ve rescued me. It’s just what you do. Honestly? You’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever met,” Hunk tells him.

Shiro looks confused. “You… think that?”

“I _know_ that,” Hunk assures him. “And I need you to believe that too.”

Shiro blinks at him. He’s starting to fade. The yellow eyes are less bright now and the laughter is getting quieter.

“It’s okay to be scared. You’re strong, and you are brave. Remember that,” Hunk says, holding onto him tightly.

“Okay,” he hears Shiro whisper back before it all fades away.


	4. Smoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while--thanks for sticking with me! I had to rewrite this thing so many times; it just did not want to work for me. Please, just take it.
> 
> There will be one more chapter. :)

Lance’s insecurities follow him into the void, shadows dancing at his heels that grow ever larger.

This isn’t going to work. They haven’t been able to make contact with Shiro since that one time Hunk did well over a week ago. And if any of them are going to, it’s not going to be Lance, who isn’t all that good at anything.

Lance can’t even claim to be the team’s sharpshooter anymore; now that he’s taught Allura how to use a gun, she can match him shot for shot. It’s a good thing, of course it’s a good thing, though it hasn’t exactly helped his self-esteem. Some people, like Allura and Coran and Shiro, seem to excel in just about everything they set their minds to. Lance’s only special talent seems to be messing things up.

Today, Lance managed to get Pidge injured _and_ singlehandedly wreck relations with an entire planet, destroying any chance at an alliance, all with a single pickup line. It hadn’t even been a good one.

Allura had warned him to keep his mouth shut before they left, and yet the words slipped out of his mouth anyway when he saw the stunning Xaranthian Princess. Affronted, the Princess had screeched like the Queen of Hearts, calling for his death. Pidge had to dive to protect him from one of the guards’ spears, getting hurt in his stead.

Allura and Keith had reamed him out all afternoon, tongues harsh and patience worn through. Coran had just sighed in disappointment, as if he didn’t expect any better from him. The worst had been when Pidge refused his assistance in walking afterward, not wanting to be anywhere near him, and the silent treatment that followed. Hunk hadn’t made things better, either, prattling on about all the things that could have and did go wrong, and listing all the valid reasons Pidge could have for hating him.

It’s times like these that Lance really feels Shiro’s absence. It’s not that the others are necessarily unkind, but they do lack tact. Without Shiro, there’s no one here to tell him, hey, you made a mistake today, but here’s the silver lining; you did all these other things well and you’re important to the team and I still have faith in you. There’s no one to give Lance the encouragement and praise and validation his admittedly fragile self-esteem needs.

The shadows grow as he searches for Shiro in this empty place. They shift and stretch and multiply, clawing and tugging at him. He can’t escape their grip. They pull him down, no matter how hard he tries to resist.

He’s sinking, and the shadows grow darker, stronger.

Awful thoughts worm their way into Lance’s head, horrible words forming worse sentences. He tries to drown it out, but it’s impossible.

He clutches at his chest. There’s a hollow ache that grows worse and worse. It’s overwhelming. It _hurts_.

The shadows continue to twist and contort, merging together. Twinges of ineptitude and mild incompetence have fully transformed into vicious self-hatred and feelings of utter worthlessness.

The feelings are so strong he thinks he might suffocate.

Lance has felt insecure before, but never like _this._ He’s made mistakes, sure, but he’s never felt unworthy of being loved because he’s inherently a bad person, unworthy of being the Black Paladin because—

“Oh,” he breathes. These thoughts, these feelings…

Lance stops resisting, stops trying to run. He stops trying to block the thoughts out; he lets himself feel all the ugly things he usually tries to hide and hide from. He closes his eyes and lets the shadows draw him in.

At the centre of it all, he finds the Black Paladin.

Shiro drifts listlessly among the stars. He tumbles further and further away from the maw of the Black Lion after being spit out, rejected.

Lance wastes no time in flying to him, propelled by his jetpack, and grabs hold of Shiro’s broad shoulders. “Shiro!” He’s so relieved. He _found_ him.

“Lance?” Shiro’s voice is unsteady.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” Lance reassures him, keeping his voice calm and giving him the biggest smile he can muster. “Not exactly sure where here _is_ , but I’m with you, and that’s what matters. I’ve been looking all over for you, man. We all have.”

Shiro doesn’t ask how. Instead, he asks in a small voice, “Why?”

“Wha—what do you mean, _‘why’_? How can you even ask that?” Lance splutters. But he knows. He felt it. “Because you’re _Shiro_! You’re our friend, our leader, and the rightful Black Paladin.”

Lance follows Shiro’s gaze as he looks over at the Black Lion, her eyes vacant and empty as she submits to Zarkon’s pull.

“Black chose _you_. Not Zarkon,” Lance reminds Shiro. “Remember what happens next here? After this, you get back in Black and swoop in to save Keith’s butt.”

The darkness around them fades and a vast, rocky terrain stretches out before them. Shiro’s badly hurt. He’s in danger. Snarling dinosaur-like creatures encircle him, huge and tusked with razor-sharp teeth, and Black… Black isn’t doing a thing to help him.

“She comes for you,” Lance insists. “I know how this story goes.”

When Keith had first told them about what happened, Lance’s initial reaction had been irritation. He’d been so infuriatingly nonchalant about his ability to save Shiro and pilot the Black Lion; Keith was just so used to being able to do whatever he put his mind to. Much as he doesn’t like to admit it, Lance has always been jealous of him.

Shiro’s not _jealous_ of Keith, but Lance can still feel the sting of rejection when Black opens up right away for the Red Paladin.

It looks easy, but Lance knows now that it wasn’t at all. He’s seen this scene play out from behind Keith’s eyes many times now, thanks to all the mind-melding practice he helped him with. He’s also seen Keith’s subsequent struggle to get Black to work with him after Shiro vanished.

“She responds to Keith, sure, but only because _you're_ in danger. And besides, the Lions take a little while to self-repair,” Lance adds. “She would’ve saved you before Keith got there if she could have.”

Shiro is sceptical. The rock below them crumbles, and the scene shifts again. They’re surrounded by stars and nebulae, though there’s a solid surface beneath their feet. The astral plane? It would be pretty, if it weren’t so cold and frightening.

A shudder runs through Lance as he sees Zarkon up close for the first time. He’s massive, every aspect of him radiating sheer power.

Zarkon attacks Shiro without hesitation, hitting him, smashing him into the ground, choking him. It’s a devastating assault. The Black Lion is there; Lance has the vague understanding that she’s the one who brought him here to face Zarkon. She does nothing to help him while her paladin is being brutally beaten.

Lance hasn’t seen this before, but he knows how it ends. “She chooses you!” Lance shouts above the grunts and painful _crack_ and _thud_ as Zarkon’s massive fist connects and Shiro’s body tears up the ground’s surface in a plume of cosmic dust. “She brought you here because she believes you’ll win. And you do! You take control.”

The fighting pauses, Zarkon’s gnarled claw a vice around Shiro’s neck.

“Remember? Through your bond with Black, you’re the one who lures Zarkon into our trap. You disarm him and take the black bayard. You’re our leader, and you convince us not to give up. Shiro, we take Zarkon down because of _you,”_ Lance insists.

Zarkon’s grip releases and Shiro collapses to his knees, struggling for breath. Zarkon fades, though the oppressive weight smothering them both does not.

Lance wraps an arm across Shiro’s shoulders, guiding Shiro to sit down next to him. He keeps his arm around him.

Even after he’s had a chance to catch his breath, the tension in Shiro’s body doesn’t fade. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” Lance coaxes as soothingly as he can.

“...I don’t deserve to be a paladin, let alone your leader,” Shiro says eventually, his voice quiet. “I’m not worthy of any of you.” The fact that he even answers is a bit worrisome in itself—Lance is glad that he does, but it’s so far from his usual _‘it’s nothing.’_

“Do you not remember those things I said, like, one minute ago?” Lance frowns. “You should see how bad we’re struggling without you. Believe me. You’re irreplaceable.”

Keith is not their leader, and he’s made it very clear that he doesn’t _want_ to be. He’s been trying, he really has, but he doesn’t know how to inspire the others the way Shiro can. He’s trying but he’s still _Keith_ , still critical and blunt and brutally honest by nature. His attempts at motivational speeches have been hilariously bad. (Shiro should’ve seen the time Keith tried to use the compliment sandwich. _Total_ disaster.) Keith takes command in battle, he provides direction, but he’s not a _leader_.

Allura is a leader, and she makes the decisions outside of battle, but her leadership has been struggling lately without Shiro there to balance her out. Rather than balance, Keith and Allura serve to amplify one another, and together their calls are even riskier, their plans more extreme. They never think about their own limitations, running headfirst into danger. Without Shiro, there’s nobody to tell them to rest, and so the others don’t get to either. Keith and Allura need Shiro to anchor them. They all do.

“And worthy?” Lance says, addressing the second part of Shiro’s answer. “Of course you’re worthy, Shiro. How could you not be?”

Shiro doesn’t look at him. “If you had any idea of the things I’ve done…”

“It doesn’t _matter_ ,” Lance interrupts, wrapping his arm around him more tightly. Thankfully, it seems to distract Shiro enough to keep his mind from taking them somewhere worse. “You’ve done so many more good things, but regardless of that, _you are more than your actions_. You’re more than what you have or haven’t done.”

It’s something he’d told Keith not long ago, when the interim leader was in a bad place after a series of botched missions. It wasn’t for lack of trying, but to Keith, actions were everything; intent didn’t matter.

Lance isn’t sure where Shiro lies on the matter, but he’s guessing it’s towards Keith’s perspective—prodigy he is, he’s probably been defined by his abilities and accomplishments his whole life. Lance was as guilty as anyone of contributing to that back at the Garrison with his hero worship. Shiro is still Lance’s hero, though for different reasons now.

“Do you remember what Hunk told you?” Lance asks, when the crease in Shiro’s forehead and bewildered expression don’t fade.

“It’s… it’s okay to be scared,” Shiro says quietly.

Lance nods. _“You’re strong, and you are brave,”_ he finishes. “Remember that?”

“Yeah,” Shiro whispers.

“That’s _you_ , and that’s not gonna change,” Lance insists. “You’re also kind, and dedicated, and patient, and selfless, and I could go on for ages. But the bottom line is that, regardless of your actions, you are a good person.”

It seems that at least some of Lance’s message gets through to Shiro. His expression has softened slightly. He’s not exactly relaxed, but his muscles are less taut than before.

Everything is starting to fade. Lance clings to Shiro; he doesn’t have much time left. “You’re the Black Paladin, and we need you,” he reiterates. “You will always be our leader. We’ll follow you to hell and back.”

“You shouldn’t—”

“Too late,” Lance says as he looks at the destruction around them. He swears he catches the beginnings of a smile. “But seriously. You’re Takashi Shirogane, and you are _enough._ You are more than worthy.”

Shiro’s eyes are grateful, and he leans against him. “Thank you,” Shiro says, voice barely a whisper, and then he disappears.

-x-

The room is empty when Lance wakes, but there’s some sort of commotion coming from down the hall. He slips the metal headband off and follows the sound of excited voices.

He ends up in the hangar of the Black Lion and is promptly tackled when he enters. Pidge throws her arms around his waist, squeezing hard. “You found him!”

“Great work, paladin!” Coran commends, standing next to one of the several machines cluttering the hangar. His tone is proud. “Thanks to you and Hunk, Shiro’s much more stable now. So much so, in fact, that we were able to bring his physical form back to this realm.”

Hunk nudges Lance in the side, just above where Pidge’s arms are firmly planted. “Not bad, fellow leg! Told you we—oh oh oh, they’re coming out!” he says, gesturing to the Black Lion.

Allura emerges from Black’s mouth, Keith trailing closely behind. “Excellent work, Lance!” Allura praises. Keith shoots him a grateful smile, small but genuine.

The appreciation is nice, but what fills him with warmth is the solid body in Allura’s arms.

Shiro is strangely pale, drained of colour, and Lance swears he could see through him if he looked hard enough. He’s awfully still. But he’s _here_.

“There’s still a ways to go before we can fully bring him back,” Allura says, steps graceful as she crosses the floor, even with a body in her arms. “But he’s much closer now, thanks to your support.”

 _Support_. Maybe that’s what Lance brings to the team. Maybe that’s his _thing_.

The others begin to file out of the hangar to follow Allura to the infirmary. Pidge’s arms hook around Lance’s neck and shoulders. “Carry me,” she demands.

Lance hoists her onto his back with ease. “You don’t still hate me?”

“Tch. Hate? I’m still kind of annoyed, but I don’t hate you,” she snorts, adjusting her arms. “You can make it up to me by carrying me everywhere until my leg’s healed.”

 _“_ Everywhere? _”_ he groans, their dynamic falling back into familiar territory.

“Everywhere,” she says smugly. “And you can make me a sandwich too.”

He heaves an exaggerated sigh.

“C’mon. Let’s go,” she needles, kicking him in the side with her good leg.

“Ow! Okay, okay,” he grumbles. But really, he doesn’t mind at all.

-x-

Pidge stares at the emptiness in front of her, wishing something, _anything_ , would come to her. Hunk and Lance had both brought Shiro closer to being within reach. It should be easier now, shouldn’t it? But the past several attempts have been unsuccessful.

The others have come close, catching snippets from his mindscape, but Pidge hasn’t so much as caught a glimpse of him since he visited her in her nightmare all those weeks ago.

Hunk and Lance have each found and helped him, and Keith went through hell to contact him that first time. Pidge, on the other hand, hasn’t done a thing. She’s completely useless.

She barely even contributed to the machines they built to bring Shiro back. Her role mostly consisted of passing tools to Coran or Slav as they worked. As hard as she’s tried to make sense of it, most of this stuff about other dimensions and realities goes over her head. And if her brain’s of no use, what good is she?

She wants to help, she really does, but she just doesn't know how. Her skills are useless here. Everything is so big, and she’s so, so small.

“The key is empathy,” Hunk had told them, and Lance had confirmed it, but empathy is not Pidge’s strong suit. And even if she did manage to find Shiro, what would she even say? She doesn't know how to comfort people. The last time she'd seen Shiro, she'd snapped at him when he was just trying to help. She probably made things even worse.

She has so many regrets. There are so many things she should have done. She should have used that time with Shiro to help him, not hurt him. She should have been more supportive, to Shiro and to the rest of the team. She should have tried harder to help. She should have figured out the link between the dreams sooner. She should be able to do this, _why can’t she do this_?

The walls around her are closing in. A glass cage; a steel trap. She can’t move. She can’t do anything. She curls in on herself and squeezes her eyes shut.

It’s just like when Matt and her dad disappeared in space, and she was stuck on Earth. Shiro’s so far out of reach, and she’s just so _weak and helpless and useless…_

The words float around her like clouds, taunting her, refusing to leave her alone. It’s… strange. They don’t feel right.

Something awful tugs at her heart. It’s like a gravity well, pulling her in. It’s more than a little unpleasant, but curiosity tells her to follow the sensation. She clings to the words and follows them into a storm.

The feeling gets worse the closer she gets to the source, buffeted by something harsh and unrelenting. She’s completely disoriented. She can hardly see, tears blurring her vision. Every step is a struggle.

 _Weak. Helpless. Useless._ She repeats the words to herself, letting herself feel the sting of each one.

She pushes her way into the eye of the storm, and she falls.

Pidge lands on the floor of a pod, bathed in dim green light. She looks up and out the pod door and finds who she’s been looking for. “Shiro!”

He and Allura are desperately trying to keep whatever’s on the other side of the huge metal doors behind them from getting past, Allura holding the doors together with her bare hands and Shiro trying to weld them shut. There’s loud banging as metal strikes metal, each impact denting the doors. It won’t hold.

Allura realizes the same, and she picks Shiro up with one hand and _throws_ him inside the pod. The pod doors begin to shut as soon as he’s inside the vessel, before he even hits the floor.

There’s a narrow window in the door, and through it, they watch a hoard of sentries break past the doors and surround Allura. The Princess looks up and gives Shiro a calm, sad smile.

Shiro’s distress is clear, pressed up against the window as the pod takes off. “Shiro, we save her,” Pidge insists, tugging at his wrist. “We come back for her; you insist on it.” She tugs a little harder, urging him to look at her.

“...Pidge?”

“Hi,” she says, offering him a small smile.

He glances back out the window. “I shouldn’t have left her,” he says quietly. “She could’ve been killed, or worse.”

“Didn’t look like you had much choice,” Pidge says. “And she wasn’t.”

“I should have found a way.”

“Sometimes there isn’t one,” she says. ”Sometimes it’s impossible.”

“You said yourself that there’s no such thing as impossible,” he says, and _quiznak_ , she totally did say that last time she saw him.

“Anything can happen, but it’s not on one person to make it so,” she reasons slowly, working through it. “So many other things have to line up. It’s not a matter of not trying hard enough; the idea that you can do anything if you try is a load of bull. Sometimes, you do everything you can, and it won’t be enough. It’s not your fault.”

The pod melts around them, and Pidge finds herself kneeling in something soft. Sand.

Looking around, she spots Shiro just in time to see him get buried by debris as a glowing ball of violet energy smashes into the pillar he’s hiding behind. A strange humming sound emanates from the weapon.

The sound is drowned out as cheers erupt all around them. An audience, and a huge one at that. This must be Zarkon’s arena.

A massive alien roars from the other side of the arena, his club raised in triumph. He’s ridiculously strongly built, and sharp teeth line the mouth of his skull-like face. That must be…

“Shiro!”

Pidge’s mouth goes dry at the sound of Matt’s panicked voice. She traces the voice and finds him in the wings, knees quaking.

“Shiro, please, you have to get up,” Matt stammers. “They’re gonna make me fight. I’m not going to make it. I’ll never see my family again—”

The rubble shifts and slowly, Shiro emerges. He just barely manages to stand.

Before Shiro can get out of the way, the weapon strikes again, this time hitting him directly with a devastating blow to his ribs.

He can’t get back up. He’s too weak. Sentries drag him out of the arena, and Matt is pushed into the ring in his place.

“Shiro!” Pidge shouts, running over to him. “Shiro, that’s not how this goes!”

“Pidge?” Shiro whispers.

“You save him,” Pidge says, throwing her arms around his crumpled form as best she can. “This memory is distorted. In reality, you save my brother. He never has to fight this thing because you intervene. You keep him safe.”

Walls shift around them and the bright lights of the arena dim to a faint purple glow. Shiro isn't in her arms anymore. Her stomach drops when her eyes find him shackled to an upright metal table.

He's hyperventilating, eyes wide, entire body trembling. “P-please, please, I swear I’ve told you everything I know,” he begs.

There's a cloaked figure in the room, face concealed by a pale, oblong mask with glowing yellow eyes. “We shall see. Bring them in,” he says in a low, menacing voice.

“No, no, no, no,” Shiro mutters frantically, utterly distraught. “Don’t hurt them.”

Pidge reaches for his right hand. His palm is still made of flesh, clammy and sweaty.

Her grip tightens when Matt and her dad are brought into the room.

“Tell us what you know,” the druid says. Sentries forcefully strap Matt and her dad down, across from Shiro where he can see. Matt is panicking, muttering incoherently; her dad is ghost-white and utterly still.

Pidge doesn’t know if this is a memory or just one of Shiro’s fears, but she knows that this isn’t something she can bear to watch.

“Please, Shiro. Please,” Pidge chokes, clenching Shiro’s hand. “Focus on something else. I-I can’t watch this.”

“Tell me where the Blue Lion is,” the druid commands, floating over to the control panel at the side of the room. A clawed hand hovers over a switch.

“Shiro, please! You can control this. I know you can!” she gasps.

Shiro’s eyes are fixed on her, desperate. He’s trying. The scene flickers, but it cuts back in.

“Think of something else. Anything else!” she pleads. “Think of—think of something before everything. Before Kerberos. You… you came over to our house for dinner before. Remember that?”

The scene flickers again.

“There’s a—there’s a green rug in the dining room. There’s wooden paneling on the walls, and a long table with rounded edges, and chairs with these hard seat cushions that do absolutely nothing,” she says, trying desperately to keep her voice level. “There’s a big window on the west side of the dining room. The sun always gets in my eyes around dinner time.”

Harsh purple fades to warm yellow. The druid and sentries start to disappear.

“Mom probably made roast beef and mashed potatoes and a salad, that’s her dinner party go-to,” she continues. “And she serves this bread that looks fancy but is kinda dry. It’s okay with cheese, but she always buys way too much of it.”

Matt and her dad shift from being strapped to an examination table to sitting around a dinner table, joining her mom.

Her grip on his hand loosens into something more comfortable. “Yeah. Matt and Dad and Mom were there, and our dog, Gunther, was probably there too—he loves guests. They were all probably dorking out about biology and making bad jokes. …Well, maybe not Gunther, but the others for sure.”

The shackles around Shiro’s wrists dissolve.

“You weren’t there,” Shiro remembers. “I never got to meet you. You… you stayed in your room the entire time and locked the door,” he recalls with a hint of laughter.

“I’m not proud of it,” she snorts. But she is proud of Shiro. She takes a good look around at the dining room he’s recreated in his mindscape. It’s meticulously constructed, almost like the real thing. There isn’t a trace of the horrifying torture chamber they’d been in before.

“You did it,” she says. “Thank you.”

“Pidge, I… I’m sorry you almost—“

“I didn’t,” she cuts him off, shaking her head. “You protected me from having to see that. _You_ did that. Maybe you can’t control everything, but you’re not powerless. There are so many ways in which you can, and do, make a difference, Shiro.”

She pulls him into a hug. He seems to breathe easier.

He’s starting to fade.

“You’re strong, and you are brave. You’re a good person, and you are worthy,” she recapitulates. “And there are some things that are beyond your control—beyond anyone’s control—but you are anything but useless.”

A slight smile makes its way to Shiro’s face. Pidge helped put that there. Maybe she’s not so useless, either. Maybe everything is going to be okay.

“We’re gonna get you out of here,” she tells him before he slips away, offering him a smile of her own. “See you soon.”


	5. Argent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finished! And just in the tick of time. Thanks for all your support!

Keith and Shiro share a lot of things. They share a history, they share a deep bond, and they share a Lion, at least for the time being. They share things they enjoy, like flying and open spaces and quiet moments. They share a desire to find missing pieces of their pasts, and a need to always be working towards something. They share certain traits, like resolve, conviction, and a strong sense of morality.

They also share a steadfast unwillingness to open up about their feelings.

Keith can tell when something’s wrong with Shiro, and he has a sense of how to give him what he needs in that moment, but exactly what it is that Shiro’s thinking or feeling is never put into words.

So Keith has no idea what Shiro must be feeling right now. He needs to connect with Shiro’s emotional state, but he doesn’t even know where to start.

Keith’s not naturally an empathetic person. He’s never really tried to understand emotions, whether they’re his own or those of others; it’s a language he never bothered to learn. His own emotions have always just been a stormy, tangled mess, and those of others have been just as, if not more, confusing. He hadn’t seen the point of even trying to make sense of them, but now Shiro’s paying for it.

Keith’s been able to locate Shiro several times, but he can never get through to him. He can feel him, but not in the way he needs to. It’s like trying to hold smoke. He just doesn’t know how to feel whatever it is that Shiro’s experiencing.

He can see Shiro in front of him. He’s _right there._ He’s alone in a cell, bathed in dim violet light, staring down at the metal arm in his lap. He’s not doing well, that much is obvious. But more specifically, he’s… sad? Scared? Angry? Keith doesn’t know. He doesn’t _know_ , and it’s frustrating to the point of tears.

The tears slip loose when, unable to make the connection, Shiro fades from view and Keith loses him again. Fucking _again._

His fists shake as his nails dig into his palms. His teeth are clenched so tightly his jaw trembles. He wants to hit something. He wants to _scream_.

_Patience, Keith. Focus._

Shiro’s calming voice fills Keith’s head, his mind supplying the words Shiro would say if he were here with him. Shiro’s always helping him, even when they’re apart, and Keith can’t do a goddamn thing to help him back.

_Come on, Keith. You can do this._

Shiro’s advice has never led him astray. Keith needs to calm down. “Okay,” he whispers shakily, taking a deep breath.

He closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing, the way Shiro taught him to do. Inhale for four counts. Hold for seven. Exhale for eight. Repeat. He does this over and over until his fists unclench, his jaw relaxes, and hot tears stop leaking from his eyes.

After he’s simmered down, he wipes away his tears and tries again.

He focuses on Shiro and his energy signature, his quintessence. He’s acutely attuned to it; he can sense it in the way he can sense the Lions. It feels off, distorted, but the others have restored it to something that’s at least recognizable. He concentrates on it, on Shiro, following faint traces of his warped quintessence like a bloodhound until he homes in on his location.

When he finds him, there are two Shiros. One is the Shiro he knows, _his_ Shiro; the other wears tattered prison garb and a wicked grin, his eyes a terrifying, glowing yellow. The latter holds the former in a chokehold, metal fingers crushing his windpipe.

His Shiro’s eyes are wide, pupils blown. His teeth are clenched tightly, jaw tense. He’s grasping at the hand, trying to pry it away, but otherwise, he doesn’t move. He’s close enough to kick, but he doesn’t. His hand remains unlit.

Keith does his best to compartmentalize the distress that bubbles up as he takes in the scene, shoving it to the recesses of his mind. There’s no time to worry. He needs to figure this out.

_What’s happening here?_

With careful eyes, Keith studies the scene before him. The hand doing the damage is the Galra one. It’s a weapon, capable of great harm. And that’s fear in Shiro’s eyes. He’s… _afraid of himself_. He’s trying to resist, he doesn’t _want_ this, but he’s not actively fighting back. Like he’s resigned to his fate. Like he knows what he is. He’s a…

_Monster._

The word reverberates in his head, loud and familiar. The concept has occupied Keith’s mind before, unrelenting and overwhelming. And now that he thinks about it, it’s not the first time Keith has seen those glowing yellow eyes, either: Keith used to see them in the mirror in his nightmares, alongside sharp teeth and purple skin.

Keith takes a deep breath. He can do this. He dredges up every memory he has of when he found out he was Galra, trying to remember exactly how it felt.

He recalls the revulsion he felt when he’d catch sight of his reflection in the luxite blade. He recalls the way his heart hurt, pounding heavily and beating too fast and caught in his throat. He recalls the sinking feeling in his gut, a sensation of falling. He recalls feeling disoriented and confused and lost. He had been anxious. Sad. Afraid. Hurt. Lonely.

 _Monster_.

Keith knows what that feels like.

“You’re not the only one,” Keith says quietly. He reaches for Shiro, and this time, he makes contact.

As soon as he’s drawn into the scene, Keith sprints toward him. He unsheathes his blade and runs it through the dark facsimile that’s hurting his Shiro, causing it to sublimate in wisps of black smoke.

Keith catches his best friend with clumsy arms before he hits the ground. “I’ve got you,” he reassures him.

Staggering to his feet, though, Shiro pulls away immediately. Keith winces. The rejection stings.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Shiro rasps.

Before Keith can argue, sand materializes beneath their feet, the lights of Zarkon’s arena glaring overhead.

Shiro’s beside him on his left. On the other side of the pit are four very large, very dangerous-looking creatures, facing them down. It’s not a fair fight.

“Stay back, Keith,” Shiro commands, moving in front of him as the beasts charge.

“What? No,” Keith says, drawing his sword.

He never gets a chance to use it. One of the creatures—feathered, fanged, and clawed—spews a stream of fire at him, burning his right arm and hand. He yelps in pain and loses his grip on his weapon.

“I told you to stay out of this,” Shiro growls, diving forward and driving his Galra arm into the monster’s heart, his hand coming out covered in crimson.

“And I said no,” Keith snaps back, pushing through the pain. He reaches for his blade with his left hand as the other creatures round on Shiro.

Keith goes for the closest one, a hulking, mammoth-like creature with a rocky hide, but before he can reach it, another creature twists its long neck and shoots a bright beam at him from its gaping mouth.

“Keith!”

Keith tries to dodge, but the beam still catches his right foot, encasing it in thick ice and rooting him to the ground. He’s trapped.

The ice creature slithers forward, jaws wide.

Shiro twists out of the grip of a fourth, scaled creature, using his momentum to launch forward and cut the ice creature’s throat in a spray of azure.

The reptilian organism that had Shiro before crackles with electricity. Impossibly quick, it grabs Shiro again, this time shocking him before he can get away. Shiro cries out, but taking advantage of his position, he lunges forward and puts his hand through its skull. Dark green liquid trickles down the side of its head as it falls.

The last creature charges at Shiro, but Shiro’s quicker and manages to dodge. When it rears to attack again, Shiro darts in and, with its soft underside exposed, he drives his hand deep into the creature’s stomach. It bleeds gold.

The fight is over quickly, and it’s not difficult to see how Shiro earned the title _Champion._

Shiro stands at the centre of the slain creatures, panting for breath, teeth bared. Keith’s no stranger to gore, but the sight is rather grisly. A rainbow of blood coats Shiro’s arm and soaks his clothing, red and blue and green and yellow mixing together in an awful mess.

The four creatures around them are no longer breathing, their hearts no longer beating, but their lifeless bodies don’t stay still. They shrink and then they transform, taking the form of human-looking corpses. They morph into Hunk, Pidge, Lance, and Keith.

Shiro pales as he watches the transformation, his expression absolutely horrified. He sinks to his knees, a hand covering his mouth, shaking.

“Shiro! This isn’t real!” Keith shouts, tearing his leg free of the ice. He runs over to Shiro, grabbing his shoulders. “Shiro, look at me. I’m right here,” he says, gripping tightly.

Shiro’s eyes are wide when they meet his. “Keith…”

“It’s okay. I’m here.”

Shiro shudders and collapses into him.

“This isn’t real,” Keith repeats, more softly this time. “This is something you’re afraid of, and I get that. But it could never happen. You would never hurt us.”

“You don’t know that,” Shiro says.

“Yes, I do,” Keith insists, jaw set.

Shiro shakes his head. “You don’t know what I’ve done, Keith. I’ve hurt a lot of people. I’ve taken so many lives.”

The carcasses in the sand shift and multiply. Corpses pile higher and higher, bodies on top of bodies like in a plague pit, forming a veritable mountain.

“That looks like an exaggeration,” Keith says, eyeing the mountain. “But I’m still willing to bet I’ve taken more.”

Shiro frowns, pulling back slightly to give Keith an incredulous look.

“Shiro, you’ve been gone for months,” Keith says. “Do you know how many Galra ships I’ve taken out in that time? How many entire _fleets_? And sure, some of the people on those ships would’ve been bad, but a lot were probably only guilty of following orders—feeding their families, or doing what they thought was right, never knowing anything different. I’m sure there’ve been innocent prisoners being transported on those ships, too. Not to mention people like Thace or Ulaz, trying to take some of the worse Galra factions down from the inside out.”

Maybe it’s not the best idea to remind Shiro of how many more lives he’s taken outside of the arena, but Keith needs to make sure that Shiro knows he’s not the only one with a kill count. Shiro will forgive the other paladins for it, of that Keith is sure, so at least in theory, he’ll have to forgive himself.

“It’s not the same,” Shiro offers weakly.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Keith concedes. “We _chose_ to take those ships out. You didn’t have a choice in the arena.”

Shiro’s lips twitch into a grim smile. “I did. I didn’t have to fight back—”

“ _Don’t,_ ” Keith snarls, giving Shiro a sharp glare.

Shiro has the decency to look at least halfway apologetic. _Sorry_ , his eyes say.

Keith sighs. “Look. I don’t know how many people you had to kill. Maybe it was a lot. But I can guarantee that your survival has saved so many more lives. We’ve saved entire _planets_ as Voltron. We took down _Zarkon_. That never would’ve happened without you coming back.”  

Shiro can’t contest that. He knows it’s true.

“It gave me my life back, too,” Keith continues quietly, his expression softening. “It gave me purpose again, and it… it gave me back the person I care about more than anyone else in the entire universe.”

The torn expression on Shiro’s face is definitely not what Keith had hoped to get from that admission. It was _heartfelt_ , dammit.

“You shouldn’t,” Shiro whispers, pulling away.

The arena crumbles. They’re somewhere dimly lit, the purple telling of somewhere distinctly Galra, but this isn’t a cell. It’s a laboratory.

An assortment of thick black tubes creep under Shiro’s skin, violet seeping through the cracks. The metal of his arm comes alive, twisted sheets snaking up past his shoulder, spreading like an infection. It takes the place of his scarred flesh.

Something inorganic pulsates where his heart should be, the same shade of sickly purple as the poisoned wound he’d received from the witch.

Shiro looks down at his right arm, the source of his affliction, a pained expression on his face. “I’m a weapon,” he says quietly. He’s more metal than flesh, like one of Haggar’s robeasts. “I’m barely human. I’m a monster.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “Know who else is barely human and literally part monster?”

Keith’s voice shakes Shiro out of his ruminating and he flinches, contrite.

“Does that make you care less about me?” Keith challenges.

Shiro shakes his head. “Of course not.”

“You’re gonna need a better reason than that to get rid of me,” Keith says stubbornly. “Would you _please_ stop trying?”

Shiro falters. “I…”

“Listen. I don’t care what you’ve done or what you think you are,” Keith asserts, wrapping his arms around the silvery metal that’s taken over Shiro’s back and shoulders. “You’re still Shiro, and I still love you. Nothing will ever change that.”

Keith’s words seem to finally get through. The metal recedes. Shiro lets out a sigh, a grateful, contented sound. He leans into Keith and returns the embrace.

They stay like that until their surroundings start to fade. They’re out of time, but Shiro is still solid in his arms, still holding on. Keith squeezes a little tighter.

“You’re strong, and you are brave. You’re worthy of everything good in this universe, and you’re a better leader than any of the rest of us could ever hope to be. You’re in control and have helped so many people,” Keith reminds his closest friend gently before he leaves. _“_ And monster or not _, you are loved_.”

-x-

“Keith.”

…

“KEITH.”

…

“KEEEITH.”

Keith blinks his eyes open, starting when he finds Hunk’s face two inches from his own.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, get up,” Hunk insists, yanking him away from his pillow.

Keith frowns, head still muzzy with sleep. “What—“

“You did it, man! He’s close enough for Allura to reach!”

Keith’s head clears quickly at that. Shiro’s synchronized closely enough for Allura to bring his mind back to his body. They can bring him home. Heart pounding with excitement, he kicks off the blankets and leaps out of bed.

“C’mon!” Hunk grabs Keith’s wrist, and together they sprint towards the infirmary.

Everyone else is already there. Slav is behind the screen of a complicated-looking machine; the rest are crowded around Shiro’s bedside. He’s greeted with cheers and broad smiles.

“There you are,” Allura says, beaming at him.

Coran carefully places a metal circlet dotted with lights atop the Princess’s head, resting just above her diadem. It flashes in a pattern that’s mirrored in the corner of Slav’s screen.

“Now, remember, you must be careful, Princess,” Coran reminds her. “We’ve never done anything like this before. Even with the transducer we built, finding and retrieving someone from another realm will take an extraordinary amount of your energy. It could take more than healing an entire balmera.”

“There is no cost too great if it means bringing Shiro back,” Allura insists.

Coran frowns; it’s not exactly what he wants to hear.

Allura casts him a reassuring smile. “Coran, the paladins will be lending me their quintessence and guiding him to me. With their help, we cannot fail.”

Lance and Pidge each have a hand on one of the Princess’s shoulders. Hunk has returned to her side as well and rests his hand on her upper arm. “Come,” she beckons to Keith.

Keith moves in closer to rest his hand on Allura’s other arm, standing next to Shiro’s still form. Shiro’s too still, too pale, but at least he’s no longer hooked up to all that medical equipment.

They hadn’t been able to use a pod—they couldn’t chance it with the involuntary brain wave reactions the pods sometimes caused—so they’d had to hook him up to what were essentially the Altean equivalents of an IV, feeding tube, and catheter. They were more sophisticated than the devices on Earth, but the whole set up had still screamed _comatose_.

They’d all agreed they should remove the devices before bringing him back; it wouldn’t be the best thing for him to wake to. The equipment’s gone now. It’s really happening. Shiro will be waking up soon.

Gently, Allura brushes Shiro’s snow-white bangs from his face and presses her fingertips to his temples.

Coran takes his place behind the other machine and nods. “Ready when you are, Princess.”

With a calm, deep breath, Allura’s hands glow with turquoise light, stray particles of light falling around them. “Let us begin,” she says, closing her eyes. “It’s time to bring Shiro home.”

-x-

There’s a sense of emptiness that fills Shiro when Keith leaves, reflected around him in the void. He feels better after seeing him—he always feels better after seeing any of them—but the stretches in between the paladins’ rare visits are long and lonely. He misses Keith already.

At least the nightmares and awful visions have become easier to bear. He’s better able to tell what’s real and what’s not, better able to distinguish fears from memories. Even when he’s caught up in the same things as before, his mind unable to let things go, what he sees and what he thinks aren’t nearly as distorted.

Myzax roars from the pit, audible even above the deafening cries of the audience. The sentries come for Matt. He’s not gonna make it. But he doesn’t die, not this time. Shiro intervenes. He hurts his friend, but he keeps him safe. Matt’s still alive.

Stars and darkness surround him in the astral plane. He’s hurt and exhausted; he can’t take much more. Zarkon’s strong as ever, his claws tight around his throat. It seems hopeless, but Zarkon doesn’t win. The Black Lion attacks Zarkon, rescuing him. She chooses Shiro. She protects her paladin.

He’s back in the druids’ laboratory, restraints burning his wrists and cold metal at his back. Haggar watches him with narrowed eyes and a vicious smile. The circular saw looming overhead comes alive, its glowing, fuchsia blade moving ever closer. Dread and terror grip him; he knows what comes next. But he’s not here anymore.

The scenes are easier to get through, but his heart still twinges with loneliness. Back in the void, there’s nothing around him, just emptiness stretching out forever. The silence is deafening. He’s all alone.

And then he’s not.

Something calls to him, something familiar that fills him with warmth. It sparks with life, intense and razor sharp. It feels like _Keith._

_Come back to us._

Keith’s presence pulls at him. Shiro follows without hesitation. It leads him away from the nothingness and toward a sweeping expanse of golden sand under a crimson sky.

The desert is vast, nothing but sand in all directions. Shiro doesn’t know which way to go, and he’s a bit apprehensive, but he can feel Keith’s reassuring presence at his side. With a gentle nudge, Keith shows him the way forward.

It’s difficult to traverse through the sand, and the sun burns bright overhead. It’s hard to keep going; he’s just so tired. But Keith urges him to endure.

_Hang in there. Just a little longer._

Keith is vitality and passion. He is courage. He is resolve. He gives Shiro strength.

He keeps going.

Eventually, the sand tapers out and the sky changes from red to blue. The heat dissipates, replaced with bone-chilling cold. Ice spreads out beneath his feet, forming a narrow bridge over dark, frigid waters.

A second presence makes itself known, shifting and fluid, cool and soothing. This one feels like Lance.

Lance’s presence tugs at him, drawing him toward the thin strip of gleaming ice. Shiro eyes it warily. It could crack beneath his feet and send him plunging into the depths.

_Don’t worry. We’ve got you._

He tests the ice, and it seems strong enough to bear his weight. He follows the path across the sea.

A blizzard brews, wind and snow buffeting him. But when Shiro’s pushed to the edge, the ice spreads out beneath him, keeping him from falling in.

Lance is dynamism. He supports him, adapting as needed. He’s a tether. He’s so very _human,_ and he keeps Shiro feeling connected.

The bridge guides him to rocky shore, the cold abating. A mountain towers before him, craggy and impossible to climb.

There’s another presence behind him, though, that guides him toward a tunnel. It’s gentle and wholesome, apprehensive yet steady. _Hunk._

Bits of rock crumble overhead, and it’s pitch black inside. He’s uneasy at the thought of entering.

_We’ll keep you safe._

Cautiously, Shiro makes his way into the unlit tunnel.

Anxiousness hits him like a brick as soon as he enters. Shiro doesn’t like enclosed spaces, he doesn’t like not being able to see what’s around him, and he doesn’t like what the dark reminds him of. But he’s okay; he’s safe. Hunk’s presence wraps around him like a blanket, protecting him.

Hunk has his back, a steadfast, grounding presence. He’s there to keeps things from getting too heavy, providing levity when the weight on his shoulders becomes too much to bear. Hunk is stability and warmth, and he makes Shiro feel safe in times of need.

The tunnel is long, but it finally ends, and there’s light. It’s scattered, filtered through leaves and tall branches.

A forest grows around him, trees shooting up high enough to catch on clouds. It’s dense and thick with no path. The way through isn’t clear, but he can sense Pidge’s presence darting around him, bright and jagged and quick. Insistent and unwavering, she urges him to follow.

_Come back._

He forges a trail through the forest with Pidge there to guide him, finding openings and ways around whatever’s in their path.

Pidge is inquisitiveness, but also faith and tenacity. She won’t give up, not on him. Pidge lends him hope.

Pushing past the branches and thick vines, Shiro finds a clearing. The forest ends.

A sweeping field of magenta flowers lies before him, the rising sun washing the petals with gold. Allura stands at its centre, her expression lighting up when she sees him.

Her eyes are more vibrant than he’d remembered; her smile is luminous as the sun. Everything about her is vivid and full of life. It’s really _her._

“Come, my paladin,” she says softly, extending her hand to him. “It’s time to go home.”

He takes her hand, and in a brilliant flash of turquoise light, Shiro wakes.

…

Shiro’s senses come back to him. Cool fingertips graze his temples, and there’s a soft surface beneath him. He breathes in the pleasant, clean scent of the Castle. Altean tech hums in the background, familiar voices whispering excitedly above it.

The voices hush as his eyelids flutter open. There’s a small crowd surrounding him. Keith, Lance, Hunk, Pidge, Allura, and Coran are all there, waiting for him.

He sits up and Keith moves first, pulling him into a desperate hug with no intention of letting go. The others quickly follow suit, and soon, he’s enveloped in a tangle of arms and tears and bright smiles.

Each touch is warm and tangible, and he knows for certain that this is real. All doubt fades from his mind. Shiro knows who he is. He knows where he is. He’s Takashi Shirogane—leader, Black Paladin, and a part of this eclectic found family—and he’s right where he’s supposed to be.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](https://littlewhitetie.tumblr.com/) now. Come say hi! I'd love some new friends. :)


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